Seaside Beginnings
by staceystories
Summary: The untold story of how Finnick Odair met Annie Cresta in District 4, just prior to his Games.


**Seaside Beginnings**

The hot coastal sun was just as bright as usual as the waves crashed loudly against the rock walls that entrapped them. I stood for a while, watching them intently, my mind open to the sounds of the District 4 beaches. I pulled my hair back and sat on the edge of the rock wall, my toes in the water. It was soothing, comforting, and it gave me a sense of freedom from my regular chores. I heard the sound of laughter, and as I looked to my left, I saw a small group of boys. One tall and muscular, with dark hair, that seemed to be the leader, one shorter with blonde hair that hurried along after the muscular boy, and another, who shared similar features with the first, only he had bronze coloured hair, and wasn't nearly as built. He was tall, a little lanky, tan, and he carried a teal trident in his right hand. I didn't mean to stare, but I suppose I was because his eyes caught mine from across the shore and he pointed me out to the other boys, laughing and shaking his head. I threw my eyes down to the water, avoiding his hurtful gestures the best I could. I knew I had seen him before. He lived near me, with the dark haired boy I had now decided was his brother.

"Finn!" someone yelled, "hurry up!"

So I did know him; vaguely, at least. Finnick. His father was one of the trawlers on my father's sip. I had had his crab before, and I can honestly say it was the best I have ever tasted, I supposed he was a gifted fisherman. I shrugged to myself then dropped down into the water to empty the fish from our family's net. I placed them in the same rusting metal bucket I used every day, and then I placed it on the ledge so I could pull myself up. When I was back on dry land, I looked up to see him standing there, my bucket in his hands. His emerald eyes shone as he said to me,

"You oughtta be a little more careful. You never know what might happen if you leave your fish layin' around like this."

"Thanks," I stammered nervously. I don't really know why I was so nervous, but I know that my heart sped up as I got caught in his stare.

"Name's Finnick Odair," he announced, "but you can call me Finn." A beautiful smile made its way across his face as he reached out to shake my hand.

"Annie," I told him, "Annie Cresta," and I smiled too because there was just something contagious about the genuine joy on his face. He had a strong grasp, and he shook my hand very formally but made it feel welcoming nonetheless. He laughed, and handed my bucket back to me then walked away saying he'd see me around. I couldn't even come up with a response; I just stood there, smiling and dumbfounded.

After a minute or two, I shook my self out of it and started back to my family's old home. It was a fairly nice house I suppose, made of real wooden planks covered with an off-white colour. The houses around here were quite nice as we were one of the wealthier districts at the time. It was only my father, mother and I who resided there, and it had always felt a little empty, like something was missing, or like there was too much room, but I just pushed that feeling aside and did my chores as I was told.

I gut and cleaned the fish and then put them onto the skewer in the fire pit and I let them sit for a while as I started cleaned up the kitchen. Dinner was always my responsibility; it had been for as long as I could remember. My father was a ship captain so he would be out for days, even weeks, at a time, and my mother would help out around the cannery or clean up around the house. Days were long and hot. Every morning I rose just after the sun, and didn't get to bed until fairly late evening. I always finished my chores around sundown, but I would go for walks along the beach afterwards or even into the market to see my friends. Of course, I did go to school too, and every May I would attend the reaping in the centre of the city. Every May I would fear my name being called and having to walk up to that stage with nothing, no talent, no special skills that would allow me to outlast all the others in the arena, but I didn't get chosen. I would see Finnick at the reapings, standing with all the other boys in his year, each time growing more and more muscular and handsome.

Aside from meeting for the first time on the beach when he warned me about leaving my fish around, it wasn't until about two years later that we really spoke. One night, when I was sitting on the pier farthest from town looking across at how the water met the orangey horizon as the sun faded from the day, I felt someone sit down next to me for the first time. I looked over and saw Finnick's sea green eyes smile at me.

I sighed, "Isn't it beautiful? How the sun falls into the water after every day and pushes the tides toward us?" Although I really didn't know him at all, I felt as though I could say anything in that moment, that I could trust him with it.

"It's really somethin'," he said, resting on the palms of his hands, his arms outstretched behind him. "What would you do?" he asked, "if they picked you for the Games, I mean." His question really caught me off guard, maybe he felt the same way I did, about being able to say anything and trust that it would stay in the other's confidence. I think he knew I would keep whatever he told me to myself. I wasn't the kind to go around muddling in the business of others and he knew that. I didn't talk much at school, I never really had much to say. I wasn't an outcast though, I had plenty of friends and was mostly happy.

"I don't know," I confessed, "I guess hope that the area was just one big body of water and swim the best I could." I was an alright swimmer, but I knew he was better. He was one of the best swimmers in the entire district, even though he was only 14. I looked up at him, he was taller than me even when we were sitting, and I asked him the same question, "what about you? What would you do?"

"Not sure," he laughed in what was meant to be a wholehearted way, but I could feel the uneasiness of it, "hope I find a trident at the cornucopia and try my luck." He shot me a sideways smile and his gaze fluttered across the horizon.

We sat talking for hours, as night rolled in, we watched the moon glow brighter in the empty night sky. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks was the only thing other than our words to fill the silent air, and it was beautiful. We spoke of our lives, our families. He told me the dark-haired boy was one of his two older brothers, and that they weren't very close despite how they acted in public. We talked about school, about the other districts, about how afraid we were for the reaping tomorrow. When we fell silent for the first time that night, he gently grabbed my hand and held it in his. I glanced over and he was already staring, smiling his winning smile at me. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as I let out a grin. When the sky was black, we agreed we should go home, so he walked me back to my old house and as he said goodbye to me on my doorstep, he gave me a sweet, delicate kiss on the cheek. I stood frozen as he walked away, my hand pressed against my cheek, smiling like a fool. It wasn't until I lost his silhouette in the darkness that I went inside and crawled into my bed.

When I woke in the morning, I showered and put my hair up in a ponytail, braiding some hair in and around to make it appear fancier, more "reaping appropriate." I grabbed an old ivory dress with navy anchors all over and slipped it on, brushing my hands down my sides and breathing deeply while I looked in the mirror. My mother opened the door and handed me a piece of our usual bread, tinted green from the seaweed and smelling of saltwater like most other things around here.  
"Best to eat before you go," she sighed.

I ate the bread nervously and thanked her with a subtle smile and nod, and then we walked out the door and started toward the square. When we arrived, my mother gave me a kiss on the top of my head and I went off to stand with the other girls of my age and her hand brushed over my arm as I walked away. I went through my usual nervousness, my mind racing a mile a minute with images of my demise in the arena, but it wasn't me. A girl whose name I don't remember, an older girl, 17 I think, walked up and took the stage. I looked over at Finnick and saw the fear on his face. I could read him so easily, no matter how fearsome his stance and figure had made him seem. Then I heard it chime through the speakers; _Finnick Odair_. I clasped my hand over my mouth and just as quickly let it go. If he saw he might have gotten even more upset. My voice trembled quietly,  
"Finn," I whispered. He looked back at me as he walked to the stage and I saw him mouth the words, "I'll be okay."

When it came time for me to take my turn and say my goodbye to him in the Justice Building, I wiped the water that had begun to pool in my eyes, and I walked in the door.  
"Annie," he breathed, "Annie I don't think I can do this." I grabbed his hand and gripped it with both of mine.  
"Yes you can, Finn. I know you can. Show them who they're up against, okay? Please, Finn. I need you to come home."  
"Okay," he nodded, holding back tears as his voice broke, "I'll come back for you, Annie. I will."

He grabbed me and held his arms around me until they tore us apart. When they pulled me out, there was more panic in my eyes than in his, but I could still see a slight sense of worry creeping up on him.

I watched everything on the Games; the training, the interviews, the arrival at the capitol. They had Finnick ride in on his carriage dressed as a merman with teal scales sparkling all along his lower body. It was then that I recalled our conversation on the pier that night, and I hoped for both his and my own sanity that he found a trident. I remembered the teal one I had seen in his hand when we first met; how he held it like it was made for him, and how he used it with such precision and accuracy.

When the Games began, I watched intently, staring at the tributes as they stood on their podiums, Finnick ready to run. Sure enough, when the sixty seconds was up, he ran straight to the cornucopia, and of the many lives lost in that first bloody battle, he was not one. My face lit up as I saw him run from the giant, silver structure with a silver trident gripped tightly in his hand. When he reached a safe enough spot, he looked down at the trident, now held horizontally across both of his tan hands, and he smirked up into the sky. He held it up above his head and His smile grew bigger.  
"I'll be okay," he said, "I'll be okay."


End file.
